


Eyes on You

by casophon



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casophon/pseuds/casophon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on the kinkmeme: "Anything based on Superior Iron Man: Matt gets his sight back for a very short time, and all he does is go see Foggy."</p>
<p>Tony Stark offers Matt a gift. The temptation of regaining his sight - even temporarily - proves too much to resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes on You

**Author's Note:**

> It has been expanded and changed quite significantly from the original fill, mostly due to about 150% more set up and 10% more Matt/Foggy, but I'll link it for posterity: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=83925#cmt83925

This was not the first time that Matt had been contacted by Tony Stark.

In fact, the Avengers had found out his identity with alarming alacrity. He had been assured that Stark had access to data that few others shared, and "It's amazing what you can piece together with a few shakey-cam viral videos and intimately personal information about everyone in New York City, Mr. Murdock." The Black Widow had been the one to corner him one night, and by the tone of her voice, he could tell she was just as thrilled by Stark's database as he was.

"Your secret is safe with us," she said. Whether or not it was true, the steady thump of her heart indicated that she, at least, believed it to be. _Then again, she's a professional spy. Can I really trust her reactions?_ "We may not all agree that what you do is right, but we _can_ agree that you do good. Sometimes, that has to be enough. Here." A flick of the wrist and something small and paper came spinning toward him. He pulled neatly it out of the air - an envelope, one piece of cardstock inside. "Secure contact information, for your fingers only," she said wryly. "Clint and I could use a few more regular humans on the team. Think about it."

He waited until her footfalls disappeared across the rooftops before taking off in the other direction, settling somewhere far from both his home and office before opening the envelope. As promised, it contained nothing but an email address, a random string of numbers and letters with a starkindustries.com domain embossed in crisp braille. He couldn't sense anything odd about the paper, no electrical pulses, but in a fit of paranoia - imagining some sort of high-tech tracking device embedded in the pulp that he couldn't detect over the baseline hum of the city - ripped it to shreds and burned it to ashes.

When he returned home some hours later, patrol finished, he was discomfited but not entirely surprised to find an email from that address already waiting for him, no subject line and the contents: "Well played."

Refusing to rise to the bait, he deleted the email and tried to put it out of his head. He had already lost enough and still had too much at stake to even _think_ about the offer. And then there was that small part of him that wondered if it wasn't some elaborate gag, that _he_ would be asked to join a gang of super heroes.

He does his best to shake off the sensation of being watched - which was hard, because he knew now that someone most certainly  _is_ watching him - and focus instead on Nelson  & Murdock's slowly growing case load. He won't tell Foggy about what happened, but that was mainly because Foggy would encourage him to do it so he could meet Captain America, and what he didn't know couldn't disappoint him. He probably would have succeeded in letting it go if the commercials hadn't started later that weekend, though he didn't know about it until his phone began to croak  _Foggy. Foggy. Foggy._

"Dude!" came the excited voice with no other preamble. Matt grimaced and moved the phone away from his ear. "Have you heard about the new Stark Industries clinical trial? They've been talking about it for years but it finally went through - Matt, they've got something that can restore vision. I mean, it's only temporary, for now, but - "

"Stark Industries?" Matt cut in, mouth suddenly dry. It had to be a coincidence, right?

"Uh, yeah, who else could pull off something this crazy? And _hello_ , did you not hear the part about  _restoring vision_?"

"i don't need -"

"You don't need it, sure, but you want it. You've told me yourself," Foggy added, his tone daring him to deny it. Matt remembered there was, in fact, a time he shared these sort of things with Foggy and hung his head.

"... Yes, alright, I do. But I- I get around just fine. There are people who need this more than me."

"Matt,  _please_ stop the Catholic self-flagellation for just a moment and think about it? Just think about it?" Matt promised to think about it, and nothing more, but that satisfied Foggy for now, and he let him go with an admonition to let Foggy escort him to the facility when he finally gave in, and he would, "because you deserve it, buddy. Don't think otherwise for a minute."

And yes, Foggy was right. He  _did_ want it, so badly it was frightening. If the spectre of Stark hadn't been looming over the whole situation, he wondered if he wouldn't be signed up already.

He doesn't have long to consider what to do next before his computer _dings_ with a new email titled "Special Invitation." Of course, it's from the burner address, and he was really starting to believe his apartment was bugged.

He was still warring between opening it and deleting it like the last one when his phone goes off once more, only this time with a name he knew he'd never entered:  _Tony Stark. Tony Stark. Tony Stark._

This wasn't the first time Stark had reached out to him, and he had a sinking feeling it wouldn't be the last.

Against everything rational in his head telling him to walk away now, he answered. "Hello?"

"Mr. Murdock!" Stark greeted grandly. "So nice to finally speak to you. I wanted to make personally certain you received my invitation to the clinical trials starting next week, because I'm getting the sinking feeling you're ignoring my emails. Why does everyone avoid my emails?"

"I've heard about it," Matt said stiffly. "How did you get this number, and why are you in my contacts?"

"You realize most of the underlying software of phones nowadays came from Stark Industries, right? It was child's play. And I swear that I have never used this backdoor to wreak any havoc or play any pranks, scout's honor." Matt always had a hatred for speaking over the phone, the fuzz of the connection dampening the signals he relied on to get a read on people, and it was all the more intense now.

"Somehow I doubt you were ever a boy scout, Mr. Stark."

"You are absolutely correct, that's amazing. How ever did you know? And please, call me Tony."

"Look," Matt hissed. He knew he might end up regretting rejecting Stark outright, but the last of his frayed nerves were snapping. "I need you to stop contacting me. I'm not interested in the Avengers, and you can't- if you think you  _bribe_ me into helping you with  _whatever_ this is about, I can tell you, taking advantage of innocent people is not the way to do it!"

"Whoa, no, no, no, that is not what this is about  _at all_ , though I am amused you think so highly of yourself. This was a long time coming, well before we even knew who you were. I do, occasionally, use my powers for good. Philanthropist, it's one of my many hats."

Matt deflated, the spark of anger stifled as quickly as it had started, a hot bloom of shame taking its place. He took a breath. "So what is this about, then?"

"This is about extending an olive branch. No one is forcing you to join, even if we could always use more not-super heroes." He distinctly recalled Black Widow not including Tony in her list of 'regular humans' on the team, but said nothing. "The deal is this: you want in on the trial, you'll get in, no questions. You are pre-approved, you get to skip the line, the whole works. I hope you understand what a good deal that is, because let me tell you, it is a _long_ line already. What was that? What do I want in return, you ask?"

"I hadn't, actually."

"But you were going to," Stark lobbed back, as self-assured and cocky as his reputation lead him to believe. "You see, Matt - can I call you Matt? - you're a medical anomaly. Dr. Banner, the brains behind this operation - well, the  _other_ brains behind this operation, his curiosity is all tickled. With the data we'll get, you can consider us square."

_Don't do it. It's risky, and you can't trust him_.

"That's it?"

"That's it. You can back out at any time, no strings attached. No one's going to lord this over you later on. Okay, I might, but that's just what I do."

_It's not worth it._

"How, exactly, would you be getting this...   _data_ from me and what do you plan on doing with it?"

"It's all in that lovely email I just sent you. Well, not the what, that's ki-ind of classified. I am ninety-nine percent certain Bruce isn't going to try to replicate whatever it is you've got going on after what happened last time. Boy, would there be egg on his face if that backfired again."

_Walk away._

Matt opened his mouth to finally do what he should have done at the beginning of this call and say  _Thanks for the offer but I'll have to decline, lose my contact information and never speak to me again._ The words die in his throat and his jaw snaps shut instead. Stark, damn him, knew exactly what he'd done; Matt could practically hear the victory in his voice.

"I sent you everything you need. Just call the clinic and they'll take care of you. Okay, gotta go, important billionaire things to do, talk soon -"

Matt petulantly deleted the number from his contact list, futile as the action was, but sat down to listen to Stark's email all the same.

 

\--------------------------

 

Of course it was a foregone conclusion that Matt would end up at the clinic, appointment made for first thing on the Sunday morning of the following week. He had told Foggy, not entirely dishonestly, that he was on the list and, entirely dishonestly, that he would let him know if he got into the trial. Foggy had clapped him on the shoulder and was enthused enough for the two of them while Matt tried to ignore the flame of guilt in his chest. He should know better than to keep secrets by now, but he already knew how this would go; there was no point in dragging Foggy down with him.

The staff at the clinic were consummate professionals despite likely having been dragged in on their day off, but he expected nothing less. They waited patiently while he reviewed every line of the general consent form as well as the supplementary form just for him. He waited, slightly less patiently, foot tapping an erratic beat against the polished floors, for the doctor to ready the treatment once the forms were signed and filed in triplicate.

They took a blood sample, plus another to be sent off to Dr. Banner. He drank the bitter concoction they handed him, and tried to listen as the world bloomed into focus around him.

"Now remember, it's only in the first phase, and it will likely have only a short duration."

_Of course, if it were any other way, it would be too good to be true._

He was informed the effects should last up to 2 hours, if he were lucky. _Lucky_ not being a word he would normally choose to describe himself, he counted on half of that, even less now as they took one last sample from him.

The doctor tried to insist that he remain in the clinic, just in case there were any adverse side effects, but there was quite frankly no way in hell he would waste the precious little time he had on a sterile white room - he had already planned what he would do with this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

His cane still found its way into his hands on his way out and he let it skitter down the street as pointlessly as ever. If someone recognized him there would be too many awkward questions; it would be best to continue the charade for now. The onslaught of color and movement are almost distracting enough to dampen his other senses, but he can still navigate well enough to keep his eyes cast up and over his shades at the dark and dingy sky above, the beginnings of joy filling his chest until he can't help but smile as the first few drops of rain begin to fall.

He took a cab back into Hell's Kitchen, partly because for once he could tell if one was open or not, and partly because he could feel the seconds ticking away and the need to get to his destination keenly. He craned his neck to stare out at the city skyline like a tourist in the back seat of the cab until it dropped him off a few blocks from his goal.

And it might be a bit vain but he can't help but stare when he finally caught sight of himself in a cafe window as the cab drove away. In his head, he had still been a scrawny nine-year-old boy; he smiles to himself, just a little, thinking about when he first met Foggy.  _So this is what he thinks is 'really, really good looking.'_ Suddenly self-conscious, he took a seat in one of the uncomfortable chairs chained to the small table by the window, sparing a moment to look on the people of Hell's Kitchen.

Streams of them went by, none sparing him a second glance (if they even gave him a first), ignorant of the devil watching them with unbridled fascination. Each face unique, a rainbow of skin tones and freckles and eye colors and clothes, and facial expressions that were just this side of foreign and forgotten, all passing in front of him. Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes for a moment, and marveled at the darkness behind his eyelids and the multicolored dance of phosphene.

_They are the real reason why this can't be permanent,_ he thought. The rest of his senses felt sluggish, as if he were hearing everything underwater, or rather, as if he were hearing the same way as anyone else. Even if he focused, he could hardly resolve any of the threads in the thrum of conversation around him, couldn't pick out any individual beats from the throng of beating hearts before him. He would, ironically, feel handicapped if he tried to go out as Daredevil in this state.  _Not to mention the lack of eye holes in my mask._  


There were, of course, several things he wanted to see in the (estimated) forty-five minutes he had left.

\- The office,  _the one we'd dreamed about since college_

\- His apartment, _because I'm honestly curious just how bad it really is_

\- Karen,  _I know Foggy's description probably doesn't do her justice_

\- Claire, _though I think she's seen enough of me_

_-_ His father's grave,  _I never did get to say a proper goodbye_

and

\- Foggy

and however much the rest of it meant to him, he could only see one, and he'd made that choice last week. The chair clattered behind him as he stood, cane tracing out the familiar path to his best friend's apartment. 

He barely has a chance to think about how he should have probably called before knocking out of the blue when the door opened.

"Hi, Foggy," he said, seeing his friend's face for the first time.

"Matt? What happened to your face?"

Foggy, who had seen Matt in almost every state between 'just a bit scuffed up' and 'almost dead', had a look of almost comical concern about the small bandage on his face. He swallows thickly, trying to commit it to memory, and pads at the bandage, having forgotten it was even there; a souvenir from the night before.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. But I like that you still ask. All this time of fighting bad guys in alleys and you're still worried when I look like I've been fighting bad guys in alleys," Matt said with a quirk of his lips, taking off his shades and folding them away into his coat pocket.

"Yeah, well, I haven't known all this time..." Foggy huffed, moving out of the way to let Matt into his living room, but soon turned that kicked puppy look on him again. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just..."

_...have no where else I'd rather be right now._

_If I could only see one thing for the rest of my life, I wanted it to be you._

_What would you think of me, if you knew that?_

"... I just wanted to see you."

"Matt? What's this about? Are you sure you're okay?"

He must be really concerned, not even rising to the low-hanging fruit of 'Matt's not allowed to use the verb 'see' ever'. Something of it must be showing in his face. He schooled his face into something more neutral, taking in the surprisingly neat bookshelf filled with a rainbow of spines, the dusty maple hardwood floors, the ratty green of his couch.

"I..."

_... can't tell you._

_You'd probably just tell me I'll regret it, that I should be out looking at other things, we should spend a day on the town._

_Would it make you uncomfortable, if you knew you were the only one I wanted to really see?_

_You'd definitely yell at me for not telling you that I went through with it after all._

_And, worst of all, maybe you'll remember this later on when it wears off and pity me for having lost it yet again._

"Don't worry. It's nothing, Foggy." He put on his best comforting smile, though he can tell by the still-upturned brows his best was not quite enough. "I'm fine." He allowed himself one indulgence - finally making direct eye contact for just a moment before casting his eyes away again as if it were all a fluke - before giving a small shrug. "Got any coffee?"

Several weeks after Fisk had been put away for good, their friendship was still strained. Sometimes, everything was as fine as it ever had been; others, it was if all the secrets he'd ever kept came to cast a shadow over them, bringing awkward pauses and sentences left unfinished. And yet here he was, incapable of learning from his own mistakes, still lying, lying, lying.

Foggy regarded him for a moment before letting his shoulders slump in defeat. Neither of them really wanted to risk damaging the delicate balance they'd finally, cautiously reached. "Yeah, sure," he said, puttering over to the kitchenette, and Matt took the opportunity to drink in the shape of his friend.

Matt never wore a watch and Foggy didn't have any clocks in the living room. No matter how much time he had in the end, it wasn't enough before the darkness crept back in, absolute for one frightening moment before the outline of Foggy lights on fire once again.

 

 

\---------------

 

_Tony Stark. Tony Stark. Tony Stark._

He had known it was pointless, but he'd hoped at least the man would have the grace to take a hint and  _not_ hack his phone again. He was tempted to let it go, but knew he still had to hold up his end of the deal, so, "Mr. Stark."

"Matt! Seriously, call me Tony. Honest to God, a tear falls from my eye every time someone calls me 'Mr. Stark'. So, how was it? I'm told you took to it faster than most."

"It... didn't work for long. I barely made it down the block before it was gone," he said.

"You're a goddamn liar."

Matt couldn't help but chuckle at the blunt response. "I was hoping you'd buy it and stay off my back."

"A promise is a promise - you don't want any more, no one is going to force it on you. We already got what we need, and let me tell you, Banner is thrilled with his new toy. And yes, it is kind of gross that blood counts as a toy. I'll let the clinic know to take you off the list?"

He sighed heavily, knowing it must have sounded dramatic, but the temptation was almost too much to bear.  _Remember why you do this. You can't turn your back on them now_. "Yes, please do."

"Okay," Stark said, tone unreadable, "Thy will be done. Oh, I also put the rest of the team in your phone, just in case. Delete it again and I'll put them in under our code names and then call you in public."  _Click._

Matt sat on his couch, knuckles pressed into his forehead, and thought of long, dirty blonde hair.

 

\--------------------------

 

\--------------------------

 

\--------------------------

 

\--------------------------

 


End file.
